


And the World Still Turns

by Procrastinating_Motivation



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hellfire, M/M, Possible Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, it's only been a couple weeks after the trials actually, will I give them the happy ending they deserve?? undecided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Procrastinating_Motivation/pseuds/Procrastinating_Motivation
Summary: The effects of Hellfire are not as quick and painless as Holy Water. Not for the Angel, and in this case, not for the Demon who has to watch.





	And the World Still Turns

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by this lovely piece of fan art:   
> https://imaginationbecomesher.tumblr.com/post/186035903866/dont-go-angel-please-dont-go-the-flame-had
> 
> I took one look at it, cried for a hot minute, and immediately pounded this out at 12 am. Please check out the artist and reblog all their work because they deserve it.

Unlike Demons, Angels did not die instantly from Hellfire the way they did with Holy water. It was a slow and meticulous process, one that started from deep inside. It gnawed away at the Heavenly beings layer by layer, leaving behind a hollow, soulless entity until even its physical form is chewed away. Angels had justified this process by claiming it was mere divine retribution, a symbolic gesture of what it was truly like to be without God. Demons had always speculated it was meant to imitate how it was like to fall.

Crowley had always questioned both justifications; one of his (supposedly) greatest fatal flaws. He remembered what falling was like, but even after the searing pain he experienced, he still had his body. He still had his soul. As for the Angels’ reasoning, he couldn’t really find an actual criticism with it, but something deep down told him it didn’t feel right.

Having to watch the state his own Angel was in didn’t help much either.

How Aziraphale got exposed to Hellfire in the first place, Crowley wasn’t sure. He had made sure after the trial that there was no remaining flames sticking to him, and indeed the following weeks showed no indication that Aziraphale was anything but okay. 

They were having a picnic. It was the perfect day. Not too hot, not too cold. Aziraphale was gushing about something - maybe a new book - but the sunshine that day seemed to solely center around those beautiful silken curls that it made it hard for Crowley to actually pay attention. 

“My dear, are you even listening?” Aziraphale said this in mock accusation, but the twitch in the corner of his lips implied he had caught on.

“Of course, just not to what you’re saying,” Crowley teased. Aziraphale pursed his lips and gave a small huff. “Oh, come on, Angel. You know I don’t mean anything by it.”

Whatever else he was going to say, Crowley forgot. Aziraphale had leaned over to wipe a bit of crumbs off his face with a soft smile. “You are divine.”

Crowley had only a vague memory of what Heaven felt like back in the day, but the surge of warmth he had felt in that instance, he may as well have been back on his little cloud. His heart wasn’t racing the way he thought it would. On the contrary, it had never felt more at peace. That simple gesture, so far beyond what any Earthly or Heavenly word could describe. It enclosed them in their own little haven, safe from anything and everything around them, in the infinity of that one single moment.

He was stone still, all his senses combined could hardly comprehend the beauty of the gesture. The Angel giggled at the shocked expression and brushed back a stray hair. So many things he wanted to say, but nothing he thought up could’ve come close to the tenderness of that moment.

The Demon didn’t have to think much longer. A flash of pain twisted Aziraphale’s gentle features into something strained, and immediately he was hunched over on the blanket, clutching at his chest.

Crowley gave a start. “Aziraphale? Aziraphale!” He tried to bring his face to his, only for the Angel to let out a strangled cry. No amount of coaxing or begging could bring him to move. Despite his shaking fingers, Crowley managed to snap them to the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Beads of sweat were forming all over Aziraphale’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut, and although his teeth were clenched tightly together, ragged gasps still escaped, each one sounding more agonizing than the last.

“Let’s look at the damage, yeah?” Crowley said, doing his best to sound calm. His own fingers were trembling hard now, and it was all he could do to unbutton the writhing Angel’s shirt. “Oh fuck.”

Deep beneath Aziraphale’s pale chest, where a human’s own heart would be, an angry glowing red was pulsating. The infection, tumor, whatever, was barely the size of a sunflower seed, and yet every beat it made sent a slicing shock through his entire being. He started to sob; a choking, guttural sob that grew in the back of the throat and stayed there.

At this point Crowley had already phoned up Anathema and ordered her to come quickly, and to bring some Holy water and maybe also phone up a priest. If he could he would’ve just brought her here himself, but he didn’t need Hell to start getting suspicious. Both sides had been leaving them to their own devices ever since the trials and he wasn’t going to give them the chance to start up again.

In the meantime, he started fashioning the back room into something of a makeshift nursing ward. He moved Aziraphale and the couch into a corner of the room and brought down the Angel’s own bed right across from it. He put on the other side of the bed a small bookshelf which also served as a night stand. He placed a bowl of water with a washcloth along with a pitcher and cup on top, and to his luck even managed to find a thermometer in the First Aid kit Aziraphale kept behind the cash register. 

All this was done, despite the fact that shaking hands didn’t make for a good grip, in quick succession. The real struggle was having to ignore Aziraphale during the process. It took Crowley four trips up and down the stairs before he actually managed to reach the bed at the very sound of Aziraphale’s groans, and four more before he actually started to move it. Even when he managed to fight back his cries, the eerie silence sent Crowley speeding back to the Angel’s place at the couch, shakily wiping away sweat with the cuff of his jacket and promising that help would come soon.

“Angel, I’m going to change you into some pajamas, alright? You’re gonna have to move a bit, but there’s no rush, okay? Take as much time as you need.” Aziraphale nodded meekly and with Crowley’s help managed to sit upright. A low groan escaped him and Crowley nearly jumped away in a panic. He opted to rub his back instead and mustered up a small smile. “That’s it, easy does it. Take your time, there’s no rush.”

They managed to strip Aziraphale to his boxers before the pain started to take over again. Crowley was able to coax him to put on a tank top before the Angel was beyond cooperation, and decided it was good enough. Pajama pants would’ve been too stuffy for Aziraphale in this state anyway, and the last thing Crowley wanted to do was make him more uncomfortable than he already was. The Demon moved the bed so it was right against the couch and rolled Aziraphale onto it as gently as possible.

“Do you want some water?”

Aziraphale shook his head slightly.

“You’re burning up, it might help cool you down a bit.”

“Too… dry… won’t help,” Aziraphale finally managed to croak out.

Despite the protest, Crowley carefully brought the glass to his lips, hoping it would get the Angel to comply, but Aziraphale only moved his head to the side. A drop of water spilled onto his cheek and immediately evaporated with a sizzle.

Tears began to prick Crowley’s eyes for the first time, and the shaking finally caught up to his voice. “Please, Aziraphale, please. Just try, please let me try. I - I can’t -,” Even with his sunglasses on, Crowley hid his face in his hands. He bent over so that his head was next to the Angel’s shoulder and let out a couple sobs.

“Glasses… off. Eyes… please?” 

Crowley raised his head to shake no, but there was a hauntingly knowing desperation in the Angel’s eyes. It pierced beyond the glasses and struck him to his core. Slowly, shakily, Crowley removed the sunglasses, his last means of defense down. Aziraphale gave a small, strained smile.

“You are divine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is pretty short, I apologize. I heavily considered spinning this into a whole reincarnation au, but I figured the "less is more" path packs a better punch in this case. I am very indecisive by nature though, so maybe in the future I'll pick this up again, who knows.


End file.
